THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


CHILDREN  OF  GOD 

AND 

WINGED  THINGS 


CHILDREN    OF    GOD 


AND 


WINGED   THINGS 


BY 

ANNE  MOORE 


BOSTON 

THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 
1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 


The     Four     Seas     Preaa 
Boston,   Mass.,   U.   S.  A. 


3525 


To 
HELEN  LOHMANN 


CONTENTS 


CHILDREN  OF  GOD 

Page 

I  SAW  A  LITTLE  BOY  ONCE  .......  13 

A  CHILD ,  .>'.  14 

SHE  SAT  AT  MY  FEET 16 

HE  LOOKED  AT  ME 17 

I  BORE  HIM  AND  I  REARED  HIM 18 

AN  OATH,  A  SHRIEK 20 

I  WATCHED  THE  CHILD 21 

HE  WAS  JUST  A  LITTLE  BOY 22 

A  STORM  COMING .  25 

A  CHILD  AT  A  WATER  COOLER 27 

A  DULL  FLUSH  CREPT  OVER  HER  BROW  ...  28 

Two    LADS 30 

A  LITTLE  BOY  AND  A  BIG  BOY 32 

A  BLACK  GIRL 34 

A  LITTLE  DOG 36 

O  GROWN-UP  PERSON 37 

THE  DOCTOR  SPEAKS 38 

7 


CONTENTS 

Page 

WHAT  Do  THEY  FEAR 40 

I  SEW  GLOVES 42 

IT  CAME  AS  A  STORM 46 

SHE  Is  ONLY  TWENTY-THREE 48 

FROM  THE  WINDOW 50 

I  HAVE  A  LITTLE  PLACE  IN  THE  COUNTRY  .      .  51 

I  HAVE  BEEN  VERY  ILL 53 

I  NEVER  WAS  VERY  SMART 57 

I  SAW  His  FACE 59 

THE  SUBWAY  AT  Six  O'CLOCK 62 

I  SAW  IT  ONE  DAY 64 

I'VE  BEEN  A  HELPMATE     .......  66 

THEY  SAID  SHARP,  CRUEL  THINGS  ....  69 

I  AM  QUITE  SURE 70 

FRIDAY,  SATURDAY,  SUNDAY 73 

TWICE 74 

THEY  SAID  IT  COULD  NOT  LAST 75 

So  THEY'VE  GOT  A  WOMAN 76 

I'M  SEVENTY-EIGHT 79 

SHE  WAS  OLD 81 

I  Do  NOT  FEEL  OLD 82 

SPRING  HAS  COME 83 

8 


CONTENTS 

WINGED  THINGS 

Page 

IN  THE  BLUE  BLACK  OF  THE  NIGHT  ....  87 

SOMETHING  So  NICE 88 

I  LAUGHED  WHEN  THE  BIRD  SANG  ....  90 

LITTLE  YELLOW  BIRD 91 

MY  JOY  BIRD 92 

I  NEVER  HEARD  THAT  BIRD  BEFORE  ....  93 

THE  WORLD  Is  FULL  OF  SORROW 94 

WHY  Do  I  LOVE  You 95 

ALWAYS 97 

MY  GARDEN 98 

THE  YEARS  PASS 100 

I  Do  NOT  KNOW 102 

IT  Is  A  BEAUTIFUL  WORLD 104 

WINDS  OF  GOD 105 

MY  SON  CAME  TO  ME  . 106 

AFTER  A  YEAR 108 

HER  APPLE  TREE     .           113 

I  MET  HIM 115 

A  CHANCE  WORD 116 

ONCE  I  PLANTED  A  LILY 117 

9 


CONTENTS 

Page 

HE  CAME  TO  ME  CONFIDENTLY 119 

DID  YOUR  MOTHER  CALL  You 120 

THREE  ANGRY  WASPS 121 

LAST  NIGHT 122 

A  POEM  WAS  SINGING  ITSELF 123 

I  SHOULD  LIKE  TO  KEEP  THIS  DAINTY  FOR  You  124 

SIXTH  AVENUE 125 


10 


CHILDREN  OF  GOD 

"Si  j'etais  Dieu, 

j'aurais  pitie  du  coeur  des  hommes." 
MAETERLINCK 


I  SAW  A  LITTLE  BOY  ONCE 

I  saw  a  little  boy  once 
Whom  I  should  like 
To  see  again. 

It  was  years  and  years  ago  in  Venice, 
That  I  saw  him  cross 
Saint  Mark's  Square. 

He  stepped  so  lightly, 
He  lifted  his  foot  so  high, 
It  seemed  as  if,  like  Pegasus, 

He  might  leave  the  ground 

And  float  somewhere  above  me 
In  the  sky. 

He  is  a  man  now. 
I  should  like  to  know 
What  life  has  done  to  him. 

He  was  so  gay  and  light-hearted. 
I  should  like  to  know 
That  life  has  not  been  unkind  to  him. 


A  CHILD 

A  child  standing  at  a  window, 

Sleepless, 

In  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

Below, 

A  meadow  flooded  with  moonlight. 

On  each  side 

Dark  pines  whisper  somberly, 

Their  murmur 

Mingling  with  the  wavebeat 

Of  the  sea 

Against  the  shore. 

In  the  meadow 
A  little  white  calf 
Asleep. 

The  child 

Awed  with  the  stillness, 
And  the  vastness, 
And  the  beauty 
Half -understood, 
Sobbing  silently, 
Stretches  out  his  hands 
In  kinship  to  the  calf. 

Often  the  man 

Stands  lonely  in  the  moonlight. 

14 


Then,  remembering 

The  spot  of  whiteness 

That  once  meant 

The  comfort  of  a  living  presence, 

He  sees  again 

And  blesses 

The  little  white  calf 

Asleep. 


SHE  SAT  AT  MY  FEET 

She  sat  at  my  feet  while  I  talked  with  her  mother. 

Now  and  then  she  looked  at  me  shyly. 

Once  she  patted  my  knee. 

When  I  went  down  the  long  path  she  followed  me 

And  at  the  gate  confidingly  put  her  hand  in  mine. 

"Have  you  a  little  girl  at  your  house?"  she  said. 
"No.    'I  haven't  a  little  girl." 
"Have  you  a  little  dog?" 
"No.    I  haven't  a  dog." 
"Or  a  kittie?"     I  shook  my  head. 
She  was  pathetically  eager.     "Haven't  you  any 
thing?" 

When  I  did  not  answer  she  said, 
"I  haven't  any  dog,  or  any  kittie,  or  anything." 

All  at  once  I  knew  how  alone  I  was. 

And  I  knew  she  was  alone  too. 

My  fingers  tightened  on  hers. 

I  smiled  into  the  upturned,  quivering  face. 

"I  have  a  book  with  pictures  in  it 

That  I  think  a  little  girl  would  like  to  look  at." 

"A  book  with  pictures  in  it!" 

"See,  between  the  trees,  there  is  my  house. 

I  should  like  to  see  a  little  girl  sitting  on  my  floor 

With  my  picture  book  beside  her." 

"You'd  like  to  see  a  little  girl  sit  there? 

Let  me  come  tomorrow.     Oh,  let  me  come." 

So  we  became  friends, 
The  lonely  little  girl  and  I. 

16 


HE  LOOKED  AT  ME 

He  looked  at  me 

With  big,  unsmiling  eyes, 

Impassive  and  impersonal 

As  though  I  were  a  worm  upon  the  ground. 

I  moved  toward  him  ingratiatingly 

And  smiled 

As  one  does  at  children. 

He  did  not  move. 

I  felt  apologetic 

As  though  I  had  intruded 

On  his  privacy. 

He  stood  so  unblinking,  imperturbable, 

Looking  at  me  with  wide-open  eyes. 

Suddenly, 

I  felt  stripped  to  my  soul. 

All  my  pettinesses, 

Futile  subterfuges, 

Self-deceptions, 

Laid  bare 

By  a  child's  appraising  stare. 


I  BORE  HIM  AND  I  REARED  HIM 

I  bore  him  and  I  reared  him. 

He  was  strong  and  fair  and  beautiful. 

Fit  for  work  and  love. 

I  had  seen  to  that. 

Before  him  was  the  joy  of  living. 

Then  came  the  scourge. 

They  took  him  from  me. 

I  who  had  been  always  at  his  side 

Had  to  give  way  to  strangers. 

Today  they  brought  him  back  to  me. 
He  had  been  good  and  patient 
At  the  hospital,  they  said. 

He  must  go  on  being  good  and  patient 

To  the  end  of  life. 

They  brought  him  back  to  me 

Crushed  and  broken. 

My  boy  I  was  so  proud  of! 

My  boy  I  am  proud  of  still 
Because  he  is  brave  and  calm 
Now  that  he  cannot  walk, 
And  will  never  walk  again; 
Because  he  can  face  life  unafraid. 
Though  he  cannot  know  as  I  do 
The  stretch  of  years  ahead, 
And  how  he  will  weary  for  all  the  things 
That  he  had  meant  to  do. 
18 


I  am  thankful  for  his  spirit, 
Thankful  that  he  has  the  courage 
To  face  his  weakness, 
The  courage  that  I  thought 
Would  mean  so  much 
To  a  strong  man. 


AN  OATH,  A  SHRIEK 

An  oath,  a  shriek. 

A  white-faced  driver 

Pulling  on  the  reins  of  a  plunging  horse. 

Under  the  menacing  hoofs 

A  child  unconscious  of  danger. 

The  terror-stricken  mother 
Clasping  one  child  to  her  breast, 
Holding  another  by  the  hand, 
Stands  on  the  pavement. 

The  little  girl  toddles  on 

One  sticky  finger  in  her  mouth 

A  doll  dragging  at  her  side. 

The  mother  darts  toward  her 
And  roughly  shakes  her. 
"What  did  you  let  go  my  skirt  for? 
I  thought  you  was  right  at  my  side." 

The  trembling  driver  continues  his  way 
Muttering  and  swearing  under  his  breath. 
"God,  if  I  hadn't  seen  her! 
The  kids  walk  the  streets 
Like  nothing  couldn't  hurt  'em. 
God,  if  I  hadn't  seen  her!" 


20 


I  WATCHED  THE  CHILD 

I  watched  the  child  playing  on  the  flag  stones. 

She  had  a  ball  that  bounced. 

When  she  threw  it 

It  struck  inside  the  crack 

Where  the  stones  joined. 

She  caught  it  and  hopped  once, 

Just  over  the  crack,  to  a  spot 

Whence  she  could  throw  the  ball 

Inside  the  next  crack. 

She  measured  the  distance  with  her  eye. 

She  did  not  miss  once  down  the  long  street. 

I  remembered  my  own  progress  to  school. 

I  am  sure  if  her  ball  had  missed  once 

Hitting  inside  the  crack, 

Or  if  she  had  once  failed  to  catch  it  on  its  rebound, 

Or  once  touched  her  foot  to  the  flag  when  she 

hopped, 

She  would  have  missed  her  lesson  that  day, 
She  would  have  lost  her  place  on  the  honor  roll, 
And  she  would  have  had  to  give  up  her  seat 
At  the  head  of  her  class. 


21 


HE  WAS  JUST  A  LITTLE  BOY 

He  was  just  a  little  boy  when  it  happened. 
The  company  saved  two  dollars  a  week 
And  he  became  a  cripple  for  life. 

It  was  a  mere  matter  of  business. 

Why  should  you  pay  a  man  to  do  a  child's  job 

When  you  can  get  a  child  to  do  it? 

It  was  a  child's  job. 

He  proved  that  when  his  father  was  ill. 

So  the  foreman  looked  at  it. 

It  was  not  the  company's  business  to  know 

That  when  the  man  was  ill  and  could  not  work 

There  was  no  money  to  buy  food; 

It  was  not  its  business  to  know 

The  mother's  anxious  fear 

That  another  would  be  taken  in  her  husband's 

place 
And   there   would  be  no   work,   nor  chance   of 

earning, 

When  he  should  be  about  again; 
Nor  the  courage  of  the  boy  who  said, 
"Don't  worry,  mother, 
I  can  do  my  father's  work 
And  hold  his  job  till  he  gets  well." 
And,  in  liis  father's  stead, 

Wheeled  the  heavy  barrow  through  the  long  day, 
Forcing,    with    indomitable    will    and    nervous 

strength, 

His  body's  weakness  to  the  task; 

22 


Nor  the  man's  bitter  shame 

When  the  foreman  told  him 

The  son  had  done  the  work  so  well 

They  preferred  to  keep  him  in  the  place. 

Why  should  they  pay  the  man  six  dollars 
When  they  could  get  the  boy  for  four? 

The  man  could  get  no  work 

Though  he  tried  in  every  way  he  knew. 

The  mother  went  to  the  oyster  sheds 

To  earn  what  she  could, 

While  he  did  her  task  at  home, 

And  made  his  wreary  round 

Of  daily  begging  for  a  job 

That  daily  was  refused. 

Always  at  the  sheds  he  stopped 

To  wheel  the  barrow  up  the  hill, 

And  so  save  the  boy, 

Until  one  day  the  foreman  saw  him 

And,  cursing,  said  he'd  have  no  loitering  there. 

Then  he  had  to  stay  away. 

Always  the  boy  smiled  and  said, 

"Don't  worry,  father. 

It  is  good  for  me  to  work. 

Just  feel  my  muscles. 

They  are  getting  big  and  hard." 

One  day  his  straining  heart  gave  out. 

He  fell.     After  days  of  pain 

The  doctor  found  his  injury  serious  and  told  him 

He  would  never  walk  again. 

23 


Then  the  foreman  gave  the  man  back  his  job 

At  the  boy's  wage. 

And  the  company  praised  him 

For  saving  two  dollars  a  week  on  the  barrow. 

The  company  knew  nothing  about  the  child. 

But  the  father  knew. 

And  the  mother  knew. 

And  the  child  lived  and  suffered. 


24 


A  STORM  COMING 

A  storm  coming, 
Clouds  scudding, 
Trees  tossing, 
Thunder  crashing. 

A  child, 

Dress  and  hair 

Blown  by  the  wind, 

Face  gleaming  white 

In  the  dusk, 

Swaying, 

Gently  at  first, 

Then  madly,  rhythmically, 

In  time  to  the  wind. 

"Fifi!" 

The  child  does  not  hear. 

Arms  raised  on  high, 

Tossing  wildly  in  the  wind, 

She  whirls 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  bluff 

Until— 

"Fifi!" 

The  mother's  arms  encircle  her  roughly. 
The  startled  child  stiffens, 
Then  relaxes  limply. 

25 


"Don't  you  hear  me,  Fifi?" 

"I  hear  the  wind,  Mama, 

The  wind  calling  me. 

The  wind  says  dance." 

The  mother  does  not  know  the  call  of  the  wind. 

"Mama,  the  beautiful  wind — " 

"Fifi!" 

The  child  catches  her  breath, 
Shudders  slightly, 
And  says  no  more. 


26 


A  CHILD  AT  A  WATER  COOLER 

A  child  at  a  water  cooler  in  a  crowded  car 
Trying  in  vain  to  pull  down  the  faucet, 
Now  and  again  turning  toward  his  mother 
Who  does  not  move. 

A  man  hard-featured  and  collarless 

Stops  behind  the  child. 

His  face  softens  as  he  watches 

The  fruitless  efforts  of  the  little  fellow. 

Prom  his  pocket  he  takes  an  aluminum  drinking 

cup. 

Very  quietly  he  adjusts  it. 
Then  he  leans  tenderly  over  the  child 
And  is  about  to  whisper  in  his  ear 
That  he  will  help  him  fill  the  cup, 
When  the  mother  darts  forward 
And  catching  the  child  by  the  arm 
Peremptorily  drags  him  away. 

The  man's  hand  drops  to  his  side. 

His  face  grows  hard  again. 

He  stands  quiet  a  moment. 

Then  he  fills  the  cup  and  drinks  slowly. 

Somehow  he  has  acquired  a  dignity 
He  did  not  have  before. 


27 


A  DULL  FLUSH  CREPT  OVER  HER  BROW 

A  dull  flush  crept  over  her  brow  and  behind  her 

ears. 

A  look  came  into  her  eyes — It  was  like  an  animal 
That  cannot  defend  itself  when  you  are  hurting  it. 
It  made  me  uncomfortable. 
If  she  had  answered  back  I  would  have  known 

what  to  do. 
But  she  sat  still  and  looked  at  me. 

A  little  later  she  asked  to  go  home. 

That  gave  me  a  chance  to  bluster. 

I  said  she  could  not  go 

Until  she  had  done  the  Arithmetic  lesson. 

She  was  too  big  a  girl  to  come  to  school  day  after 

day 

And  go  to  sleep  over  her  books.     She  said, 
"I  reckon  I  can't  stay  today,"  and  left  the  room. 

Of  course  I  had  to  see  her  folks. 

I  could  not  have  a  girl  in  school  who  disobeyed. 

That  was  how  I  came  to  find  out  about  her. 

I  hope   I   shall  always   remember  the  lesson   I 

learned. 
Find  out  first.     Talk  afterwards  if  you  must. 

It  was  four  miles  to  her  home. 

She  walked  it  twice  a  day.     I  had  not  troubled 

before 
To  find  out  where  she  lived  nor  what  the  place 

was  like. 

28 


Her  mother  was  in  bed  incurably  sick. 

She  was  the  oldest  of  six  and  just  fifteen. 

In  the  morning  she  was  up  at  some  unearthly 

hour 
To  fix  breakfast  for  her  father  and  get  him  off  to 

work. 
Then  she  had  to  get  the  other  children  off  to 

school 
And  make  her  mother  comfortable  before  she 

went  herself. 
In  the   afternoon   she   washed   and  ironed   and 

cleaned. 

No  wonder  she  had  no  time  at  home  for  lessons 
And  was  too  sleepy  to  do  much  in  school. 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  how  things  were?"  I 

asked. 
"I  reckoned  you  knew,"  she  said. 

I  would  have  known  if  I  had  been  on  my  job 
As  she  had  been  on  hers. 
And  I  would  have  managed  to  help  her. 
Anyway  I  would  have  found  something 
Better  to  do  than  scold. 


29 


Two  LADS 

Two  lads  swinging  by  straps  in  a  crowded  car. 

One  with  flushed  cheeks  and  troubled  eyes, 

The  other  cold  and  white 

His  lips  curling  to  conceal  a  hurt. 

The  first  pleading, 

"I  didn't  know  you  was  going  to  take  it  like  that. 

I  didn't  mean  it  the  way  you  took  it. 

I  thought  we  was  friends. 

You  said  we  was  friends  for  always. 

Don't  look  that  way. 

It  makes  me  feel — 

You  don't  need  me. 

But  I  need  you. 

Oh,  what  can  I  say? 

I  thought  you'd  understand — 

We  being  friends — " 

Dear  lad,  don't  you  know  how  hard  it  is  sometimes 
For  a  friend  to  understand? 
We  count  on  friendship  for  understanding 
And  it  fails  when  we  need  it  most. 
We're  so  frail  that  we  look  for  frailty 
And  do  not  give  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 
Be  patient.     Someday,  perhaps, 
Your  friend  will  understand 

How  the  foreman  gave  an  order  and  you  obeyed 
Not  knowing  it  would  work  him  harm. 
Then  things  will  be  as  before. 

30 


No,  not  quite. 

Things  never  are  quite  the  same 
After  a  bitter  misunderstanding. 
Sometimes  they  are  better. 
Sometimes — there  is  a  wound 
That  never  heals. 


A  LITTLE  BOY  AND  A  BIG  BOY 

A  little  boy,  and  a  big  boy, 

One  white,  the  other  black, 

Working  together,  playing  together, 

Fishing,  swimming,  singing  together, 

Always  singing  together, 

Their  voices  rising  and  falling 

In  the  plaintive  chant 

Of  a  negro  folksong, 

The  childish  treble  sustaining  the  melody, 

The  black  boy's  resonant  tenor, 

Like  the  trill  of  a  mocking  bird, 

Playing  around  it. 

Friends, 

Gentle,  tender,  considerate,  understanding, 

Both  giving,  both  taking. 

The  black  boy  giving  devotion  and  service, 

Accepting  with  pride  the  gentle 

But  masterful  leadership  of  the  white  child, 

Who  never  forgets  that  service, 

To  be  accepted  with  honor, 

Must  be  born  of  love. 

Then,  one  day, 

The  child's  voice  silent. 

The  big  boy  alone, 

Missing  his  guiding  star, 

Feeling  a  want 

That  never  while  he  lives, 

In  spite  of  love  of  woman 

32 


And  children  born  of  that  love, 
Is  filled. 

Remembering  always,  with  tenderness, 

The  little  white  boy 

Who  found  him  hungry  and  fed  him, 

Fed  his  body  with  bread, 

His  spirit  with  love, 

And  made  visible  a  beauty  of  soul 

That,  without  his  friendship, 

Would  have  been  forever  hidden. 


33 


A  BLACK  GIRL 

A  black  girl  walking  up  and  down, 

Up  and  down  ceaselessly. 

In  her  arms  a  baby 

Pressed  against  her  breast. 

Her  low  voice  crooning. 

The  child  sick  unto  death 

Now  and  again  weakly  wailing. 

The  girl,  sorrowing: 

"Can't  you  res',  little  baby? 

Becky's  holding  you. 

Can't  you  feel  her  arms  about  you? 

What  is  it's  hurting  you? 

Becky'd  stop  it  if  she  could. 

There,  there,  little  baby, 

Don't  you  cry. 

Becky  won't  put  you  down. 

She'll  hold  you. 

She  knows  you  want  your  mammy. 

But  she  ain't  here,  little  baby. 

God  knows  if  you  was  mine, 

I  wouldn't  'a  lef  you  today. 

But  maybe  she  ain't  know 

How  sick  you  is. 

Maybe — Oh,  God! 

If  somebody'd  come." 

The  child  lies  stiff  in  her  arms. 
Not  all  her  tenderness, 
Not  all  her  devotion 
Could  stay  death. 

34 


The  mother,  returning, 

Reads  in  her  face  what  has  happened. 

Distracted  because  she  did  not  know 

Her  child  was  near  to  death, 

She  blames  the  girl, 

The  universe,  everybody. 

The  black  girl  saw  the  baby  suffered, 

And  felt  his  need  of  her, 

So  she  put  her  arms  about  him 

And  kept  them  there 

Till  the  need  passed. 

To  the  grief-stricken  mother 

She  says  only, 

"I  done  the  bes'  I  could 

To  keep  him  for  you. 

I  done  the  bes'  I  could." 


35 


A  LITTLE  DOG 

A  little  dog  came  to  me  crying  with  pain. 
He  did  not  know  what  hurt  him,  nor  why. 
He  did  not  know  me.     But  he  came 
Believing  me  his  friend. 
He  rubbed  against  my  hand 
Crying  pitifully. 

0  little  dog, 

1  would  there  were  healing  in  my  hands. 
I  would  touch  you 

And  take  the  pain  away. 

There  have  been  human  beings 
Who  have  come  in  the  same  way. 
Sometimes  I  have  been  able  to  help  them. 
More  often  I  have  failed. 
But  they  understand. 

You  come  as  we  go  to  God, 

Trusting  in  his  power. 

To  fail  you,  little  dog, 

Is  to  break  faith. 

So  it  grieves  me  to  do  no  more 

Than  speak  softly  to  you 

And  touch  you  gently. 

Does  that  help  you,  little  dog? 


O  GROWN-UP  PERSON 

O  Grown-up  Person 
With  the  wistful  eyes 
And  the  changing  mouth 
That  quivers  and  droops 
In  the  midst  of  a  smile, 

O  Grown-up  Person 

With  the  heart  of  a  child, 

Are  you  afraid  of  some  terrible  thing 

In  the  big  dark  room 

Where  you  stand  at  the  door? 

When  your  lip  trembles  so, 
Are  you  afraid  that  a  big,  black  bear 
Will  come  upon  you,  unaware, 
Standing  there? 

Are  you  afraid  of  Life? 
Or  Death? 
O  Grown-up  Person 
With  the  heart  of  a  child. 


37 


THE  DOCTOR  SPEAKS 

THE  DOCTOR.  [Speaks.]  You're  tired,  Sister. 
Please  rest. 

THE  SISTER.  [Speaks.]  She  should  wake  soon. 
THE  DOCTOR.  Let  me  take  your  place.  I  shoul:! 
like  to  be  here  when  she  comes  back  to  con 
sciousness. 

[The  sister  leaves.     The  doctor  sits  watching 

the  girl  -who  presently  opens  her  eyes  and 

speaks.  ] 

SHE.     I  didn't  know  I'd  be  lying  in   a  bed.     I 
thought — I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  thought, 
only — You  look  like  any  man   that's  kind   and 
good.     I'm  glad  of  that.     [She  sighs.]     I'm  tired. 
I  thought— Oh,  I  thought— 
HE.     Child,  why  did  you  do  it? 
SHE.     It  doesn't  matter,  does  it? 
HE.     Here,  drink  this."      [She  drinks.] 
SHE.     It  tastes  just  the  way  I  thought  things 
would  taste  here. 

HE.     Drink  it  all.     It  will  make  you  stronger. 
SHE.     I  thought  I  would  be  strong  as  soon  as  I 
got  here. 

HE.     I  had  hard  work  to  save  you. 
SHE.     Did  they  want  to  send  me  to  hell? 
HE,     If  I  had  not  been  there— 
SHE.     They  would  have  tried  to? 
HE.     You  almost  killed  yourself. 
SHE.     Almost! 
HE.     I  brought  you  here. 
SHE.     Almost!     I  thought — What  is  this  place? 

38 


HE.     Saint  Joseph's  Hospital. 

SHE.     And  you!     Who  are  you? 

HE.     I  am  Doctor  Scott. 

SHE.     Doctor  Scott.    I  thought— you— If  you  had 

been  God — you  would  have  had  pity. 

HE.     Why  did  you  do  it,  child? 

SHE.     I   don't  know.      Perhaps — because — Were 

you  ever  hungry  all  the  time? 


39 


WHAT  Do  THEY  FEAR 

What  do  they  fear 

All  these  souls 

Behind  these  frightened  eyes? 

It  is  when  you  catch  them  unaware 
That  you  see  it. 

The  rest  of  the  face  shows  nothing. 
It  is  schooled  to  show  nothing 
That  is  intimate  or  personal. 

The  eyes  cannot  be  schooled. 
When  one  is  off  one's  guard 
They  show  everything. 

You  can  look  through  them  into  the  soul. 
If  you  look  long  and  deep  enough 
You  see  Fear. 

What  do  they  fear,  all  these  souls? 
Death?     Punishment  for  sin? 

Hunger. 

They  fear  they  may  not  have 
For  themselves,  or  for  those  they  love, 
Things  they  must  have  to  preserve  life. 
Primitive  things  like  food  and  clothing, 
Things  men  fight  each  other  for, 
Sometimes  die  for. 

40 


And  those  who  fear  not  material  need? 
What  of  them? 

Before  them  too  is  hunger, 
The  eternal  menace  of  hunger. 


I  SEW  GLOVES 

I  sew  gloves  because  there  ain't  nothing  else  I  can 

do. 

It  just  keeps  me  from  starving. 
Sometimes  I  think  I'd  rather  starve  than  sew 

another  pair. 

Then  I  look  at  him  and  keep  on. 
I  could  easy  starve  myself 
But  I  can't  starve  him. 

Yet,  down  in  his  soul,  I'm  pretty  sure 

He  feels  the  same  as  I  do 

And  keeps  up  because  of  me. 

It's  curious,  ain't  it,  what  human  beings  will  do 

When  they  set  store  by  each  other? 

They  go  on  hiding,  or  thinking  they're  hiding, 

And  you  can't  let  on  you  know, 

When  you  see  as  plain  as  day. 

I  wonder  if  he  knows  how  I  feel, 

The  same  as  I  do  him, 

And  thinks  he's  hiding  for  my  sake 

As  I  do  for  his.     I  never  thought  before. 

Maybe — Men  ain't  as  keen  as  women. 

I  hope — he  don't. 

Time  was  when  things  was  well  with  us. 
But  that  was  before  he  hurt  his  back, 
When  he  had  his  job.     I  can  see  it  pains  him. 
But  he  says  he's  used  to  it  and  don't  mind. 
He's  good  and  patient  about  helping  me. 
God  knows  what  I'd  do  if  he  was  like  some. 

42 


He  sits  by  me  and  turns  the  fingers 

As  fast  as  I  can  sew  'em. 

If  he  didn't  I  couldn't  do  more'n  half  I  do. 

Yes,  I  get  all  I  can  do. 

Most  always  the  boss  gives  you  a  little  less 

So's  he  can  keep  you  coming  and  have  you 

When  the  rush  comes  on. 

But  I  ain't  like  the  woman  across  the  street. 

She  calls  him  the  good,  kind  boss  when  he  gives 

her  work. 
He  ain't  giving  it  to  her,  and  he  ain't  giving  it  to 

me 

Because  he's  good  and  kind.     He  gives  it  to  me 
Because  he  knows  I'm  the  best  hand  he's  got. 
He  knows  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered  on 
And  he  keeps  the  buttered  side  to  himself. 
It's  the  other  side  I  get. 

He  don't  fool  me  none  since  the  day 

He  done  me  out  of  what  was  rightful  mine. 

I  told  him  straight  what  he  was, 

But  I  didn't  get  my  pay. 

It  was  a  rush  order  he  gave  me, 

Saturday  noon  ten  dozen  pair. 

He  wanted  'em  first  thing  Monday  morning. 

The  best  anyone  can  do  is  three  dozen  pair  a  day. 

But  I  worked  straight  through, 

Just  slept  an  hour  or  two  Saturday  and  Sunday 

nights 

And  my  man  sat  by  me  helping. 
I  got  'em  to  him  when  I  said  I  would. 

43 


He  said  he'd  pay  me  straight  the  price, 

That  was  two  dollars, 

And  he'd  give  me  extra  fifty  cents 

If  I  got  'em  through  on  time. 

Two  fifty  would  just  buy  the  shoes  I  needed. 

When  I  finished  I  was  too  dead  beat 

To  take  'em  back  myself  and  John  took  'em. 

He  looked  'em  over  one  by  one 

And  couldn't  find  no  fault. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  money  box 

And  handed  John  one  dollar  and  eighty  cents. 

John  said  I  was  expecting  more, 

That  I'd  told  him  to  bring  back  two  dollars  and  a 

half. 

He  laughed  and  said,  "Do  you  think  I'm  a  fool? 
Two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  for  less  than  two  day's 

work? 
If  she  can  do  'em  fast  as  that  I'm  paying  too 

much. 

I'll  cut  the  price.  One  eighty  is  all  she  gets." 
And  me  sitting  there  seeing  nothing  but  gloves 
Wherever  I  looked. 

Was  you  ever  like  that? 

It  was  worse  that  time  than  it  had  ever  been. 

It  sort  of  started  me  off. 

Now  it's  most  always  like  that. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  I  just  see  gloves. 

That  tree  there   that's   spreading   out  its   bare 

branches. 
There  are  five  of  'em,  five  fingers.     Do  you  see 

the  thumb? 

44 


That  short  thick  branch  that's  folded  in  across 

the  trunk? 

The  trunk's  the  hand. 

Look  at  that  mud  puddle,  how  the  water's  run. 
It's  like  a  mit.     Just  the  thumb  is  separate  from 

the  rest. 

I  didn't  get  my  shoes,  and  my  foot  was  on  the 

ground. 

I  had  to  go  on  for  another  week  tying  'em  on. 
Since  then  I  ain't  worked  nights  later  than  twelve 

o'clock. 

I  can  just  make  what  we've  got  to  have 
If  I  start  at  eight  and  work  straight  through  till 

midnight. 

That  little  patch  of  road  and  that  tree 
Is  all  I  see  of  out  of  doors. 
John  goes  back  and  forth  for  me. 
I  can't  take  the  time. 

God,  I  wonder  how  long  it's  going  to  last. 


45 


IT  CAME  AS  A  STORM 

It  came  as  a  storm  does. 
A  few  sharp,  rattling  taps, 
Then  more  and  more, 
Slowly  at  first, 
Then  faster  and  faster, 
Louder  and  louder, 
Thousands  upon  thousands, 
Until  separate  sounds 
Are  lost  in  a  roar 
Ominous,  menacing,  fearful. 

I  sit  up  in  bed 

Not  knowing  what  catastrophe 

May  be  upon  me. 

The  clock  strikes  six. 
I  know  what  it  is. 

The  feet  of  the  workers 
Upon  the  pavement 
Moving  towards  the  mills, 
Their  day  begun. 

I  think  of  yesterday, 

The  day  before,  all  the  days 

When  I  have  heard  the  feet  passing. 

And  I  wonder 

When  workers  will  awake, 

When  they  will  learn 

46 


That  life  means  more  than  work, 
When  they  will  demand 
Time  to  live. 

In  that  day 

I  shall  not  hear  the  feet 

Passing  to  the  mills  at  six  o'clock. 

The  deluge  will  be  upon  us. 


47 


SHE  is  ONLY  TWENTY-THREE 

She  is  only  twenty-three. 
And  she  has  been  through  all 
A  woman  can  go  through 
And  live. 

She  has  not  been 

What  the  neighbors  call  good. 

They  say  she  suffers  for  her  sins. 

Yet  she  still  takes  pleasure 

In  things  as  simple 

As  the  color  of  the  buttons  that  she  sews. 

I  wonder  if  she  was  so  very  bad. 

I  saw  her  when  she  was  eighteen, 

Untouched  by  life,  eager,  beautiful. 

And  again  when  she  came  home  for  a  visit. 

I  did  not  know  then 

What  the  look  in  her  eyes  meant. 

I  only  knew  something  very  terrible 

Had  happened  to  her. 

Again  I  saw  her  when  she  came  home  for  good. 

She  was  a  wreck  then, 

Cast  off  by  the  man  she  had  married 

Because  she  was  no  longer  able 

To  earn  money  for  him 

In  the  fashion  that  he  willed. 

All  day  she  sits  carding  buttons. 
She  cannot  stand  nor  walk  alone. 
At  night  her  father  lifts  her  to  her  bed 
And  in  the  morning  to  her  chair  again. 


Yet  her  eyes  still  have  laughter  in  them 
And  in  her  centers  family  life  and  love. 

I  went  to  see  her  yesterday. 
I  like  to  hear  the  clever  things  she  says 
And  watch  her  rapidly  moving  fingers 
As  she  sews  the  buttons  to  their  cards. 

You  who  carelessly  break  the  thread 

That  fastens  the  buttons 

Exclaiming  with  impatience  if  it  catches, 

Do  you  know  what  it  means 

To  sew  buttons  on  a  card 

At  two  cents  a  gross? 

One's  fingers  must  move  very  fast 

To  make  anything  in  a  day. 

"Look,"  she  said, 

Holding  a  card  for  me  to  see, 

"Aren't  they  pretty?" 

The  buttons  that  pleased  her 

Were  commonplace  enough, 

A  blue  center  rimmed  about  with  black. 

"When  mother  took  me  out  yesterday 
We  passed  a  man  with  buttons  on  his  coat 
Like  these.     Mother,  I  said, 
Do  you  think  they'll  ever  give  me 
Such  pretty  buttons  to  sew? 

Today  they  gave  them  to  me. 
Think  of  that." 

49 


FROM  THE  WINDOW 

From  the  window  of  the  car  I  see 
A  row  of  lamp  posts 
Stretching  one  behind  the  other, 
The  last  four  rising 
Where  the  hill  begins, 
Each  beautiful  in  its  symmetry 
Suited  to  the  needs  of  the  street 
That  it  lights. 

Facing  me  a  row  of  human  beings 

Gnarled  and  bent, 

Moulded  into  unlovely  shapes 

By  hard  and  relentless  contacts, 

Hands  and  feet  once  beautifully  formed 

Twisted  and  misshapen, 

Minds  and  souls  once  attuned  to  life 

Maimed  and  shrunken, 

Unfitted  forever 

For  the  joy  of  living. 


I  HAVE  A  LITTLE  PLACE  IN  THE  COUNTRY 

I  have  a  little  place  in  the  country. 

It  is  very  beautiful. 

It  shall  be  more  beautiful  because  I  have  lived 

there. 
The  house,  half  hidden  in  the  trees,  is  long  and 

low 

With  broad,  hospitable  piazzas. 
There  is  a  sloping  hillside, 
At  its  foot,  a  tiny  brook  with  lilies  growing  on  its 

banks. 
There  are  birds  and  wild  flowers  and  other  lovely 

things. 

Enhancing,  preserving,  loving  its  beauty, 
I  live  there  all  alone. 

My  neighbor  across  the  way  has  a  house  and 
garden. 

She  is  too  busy  growing  peas  and  beans  and  use 
ful  things 

To  think  of  beauty. 

There  is  always  someone  with  her, 

A  work-worn  mother  with  an  ailing  baby, 

A  child  recovering  from  fever. 

Last  summer  she  had  a  waif  from  Hell's  Kitchen. 

She  made  a  human  being  of  him. 

Now  she  has  a  child  from  the  East  Side  with 
tuberculosis. 

The  house  is  ramshackle. 

The  roof  leaks  and  the  barn  needs  paint. 

Piles  of  unsightly  boards  lie  outside  the  door. 


Weeds  are  growing  high  in  the  path. 
Often  the  babies  cry. 

Dear  Lord,  it  makes  me  sick  at  heart. 
I  mean  my  way  of  living,  not  hers. 


I  HAVE  BEEN  VERY  ILL 

I  have  been  very  ill. 

Now  I  must  reckon  the  cost. 

The  bills  are  all  here, 

The  doctor,  the  hospital,  the  nurse, 

And  little  extra  things. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  they  come  to. 

Fifty  dollars  more  than  I  have. 

That  means  I  must  go  on 

As  I've  been  doing. 

I  wonder  if  I  can  go  on. 

I've  worked  so  hard, 

Night  as  well  as  day, 

To  get  a  little  ahead. 

I  was  looking  forward  to  a  rest. 

I  won  my  goal, 

One  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank 

Against  the  rainy  day. 

There's  my  book  that  shows, 

My  book  I  was  so  proud  of  adding  to 

Each  week. 

I  thought 

When  I  have  one  hundred  dollars 

I  can  stop  the  extra  work. 

But  I  can't  stop. 

I've  to  pay. 

I  must  go  on  and  on  as  I  did 

Before  the  pain  racked  me. 

53 


The  pain's  gone. 
I'm  glad  it's  gone. 
But  there's  the  weakness. 
I  must  reckon  with  that. 
That  will  keep  me  back 
From  earning  so  much. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars! 
Oh,  my  God! 

If  I  had  not  worked  so  hard, 

If  I  had  not  strained  so 

To  put  aside  that  hundred  dollars, 

Perhaps  I  would  not  have  had  the  pain. 

That's  the  worst, 

To  think  that  it  was  all  wasted, 

All  those  hours  and  hours  of  work 

When  I  made  myself  sit  there 

Just  because  I  was  afraid, 

Just  because  I  thought  I  would  feel  safer 

To  have  something  if  I  should  fall  ill. 

My  friends  told  me  I  was  looking  tired 

And  ought  to  take  care  of  myself. 

They  didn't  understand  when  I  said  I  must  go  on. 

I  thought  I  could  hold  out  two  weeks  longer. 

Now  I  must  pay. 

I  wonder  what  it  was  put  it  in  my  head  to  do  it. 

Oh,  yes.     I  remember. 

The  lady  told  me  I  should  save. 

I  wonder  how  one  saves  on  what  I  get  each  week. 

54 


Somehow  she  got  me  afraid, 

Afraid  I  might  get  ill 

And  nothing  to  fall  back  on. 

So  I  took  to  working  after  hours. 

Now  I  must  go  on. 

I  can't  stop. 

I  must  earn  that  fifty  dollars. 

I  spent  two  years  putting  aside  a  hundred. 

That  means  I  must  go  on  one  more  year. 

But  I  can't  work  so  fast,  nor  so  long  now. 

How  long  will  it  take? 

How  long,  I  wonder. 

I  feel  like— 

I  know  what  I  feel  like. 

That  frog. 

You  remember  the  frog? 

He  used  to  worry  me  somehow. 

He  used  always  to  come  to  me  in  the  Arithmetic 

class. 

If  a  frog  is  in  a  well  one  hundred  feet  deep, 
And  if  he  climbs  up  three  feet  every  day, 
And  slips  back  two  feet  every  night, 
How  long  will  it  take  him  to  get  out  of  the  well? 

I  never  could  tell  because  I  was  always  wondering 

Suppose  he  didn't  keep  it  up,  suppose — 

Suppose  one  night  he  lost  his  hold 

And  slipped  back  into  the  water 

And  went  down  a  hole, 

And  the  hole  was  fifty  feet  deep. 

How  long  would  it  take  him  to  get*  out  then? 

55 


Do  you  suppose  he  could  climb  as  fast  as  he  did 

before? 

Suppose — suppose — 
Suppose  the  next  time  he  gets  nearly  out  he  falls 

again — 

When — when — do  you  suppose— 
Oh,  my  God! 
When  will  the  end  come? 


I  NEVER  WAS  VERY  SMART 

I  never  was  very  smart. 
My  father  told  me  I  wasn't  smart 
And  I  musn't  ever  do  anything  important  by  my 
self. 

But  somehow— 
I  don't  know  how  it  happened. 
It  seemed  all  right. 
But  he's  got  the  field, 
And  I  haven't  anything. 
He  talked  fair 

And  I  thought  he  was  telling  me  true. 
But  somehow  it  don't  seem  natural 
For  me  not  to  have  that  field. 
It  was  my  father's, 
And  his  father's  before  mine. 
But  yesterday  he  came  and  said  it  was  his. 
He  ordered  me  off. 
And  when  I  said  I  didn't  want  to  go 
He  said  he'd  have  me  arrested  for  trespassing 
And  I'd  be  sent  to  jail. 
Somehow  it  don't  seem  just  right. 
Of  course  I  know  the  horse  was  his. 
But  it  seems  like 

There  ought  to  be  some  other  way  to  pay  him 
Besides  his  taking  my  field. 
I  needed  a  horse  to  till  the  field  with. 
He  said  he  had  one  he  wasn't  using. 
He  said  I  could  take  it 

And  pay  him  a  hundred  dollars  when  the  crop  sold, 
All  I  had  to  do  was  to  put  my  name  to  the  paper 

57 


And  it  would  be  all  right. 

Of  course  he  didn't  know  the  horse  was  going  to 
die. 

But  it  died  that  night. 

He  came  the  next  day 

And  said  the  horse  dying  made  everything  dif 
ferent 

And  I  would  have  to  pay  the  money  right  off. 

I  told  him  I  didn't  have  it. 

He  said  it  didn't  make  any  difference, 

And  he  spoke  real  fair. 

He  said  I  could  ,put  my  name  to  another  paper, 

A  deed,  he  called  it, 

And  it  would  be  all  right. 

I  did  it  and  I  thought  he  was  real  kind. 

Then  the  next  day  he  came 

And  said  the  field  was  his, 

That  that  was  what  the  paper  said, 

And  I  couldn't  take  it  back 

Because  he  had  sent  it  to  the  courthouse. 

Somehow  it  don't  seem  just  right  for  him  to  take 
the  field 

And  the  horse  sick  so  it  died. 

But  I  don't  understand  very  well. 

He  spoke  so  fair. 

I'm  not  very  smart. 

I  wouldn't  have  done  it  to  him. 


I  SAW  His  FACE 

I  saw  his  face  when  he  came  down  the  mountain. 
It  frightened  me.     It  was  so  white  and  hurt. 
I  walked  with  him  a  while  thinking  to  help  him. 
But  when  he  could  trust  himself  to  tell  me 
What  had  happened  I  knew  it  was  beyond  me. 

He  had  been  saving  for  a  long  time 

To  buy  a  little  piece  of  land. 

He  had  found  it  one  day 

When  he  was  roaming  over  the  mountain 

And  it  had  taken  his  fancy. 

He  was  always  a  dreamer. 

He  couldn't  plough  it, 

Nor  raise  anything  on  it, 

Nor  live  there. 

He  just  wanted  to  keep  it  always  the  way  it  was 

So  he  could  go  to  it  and  look  out  from  it. 

He  had  gone  up  with  the  money  in  his  hand. 
The  folks  that  lived  there  were  glad  of  a  chance 

to  sell. 
They  wanted  to  get  away  and  they  had  told  him 

they  would  go 

Whenever  he  could  pay  the  price. 
It  was  what  they  did  that  broke  his  heart, 
What  they  did  just  for  a  sort  of  present 
Over  and  above  what  he  was  paying  for. 

When  he  was  telling  me  about  the  place 
His  face  was  beautiful. 

59 


It  was  way  up  on  the  mountainside. 

If  you  lifted  your  eyes 

You  could  look  off  across  the  hills 

To  the  end  of  the  world. 

If  you  looked  down  you  could  see 

A  little  lake  that  reflected 

The  hills  and  the  trees  on  its  shore. 

Just  at  the  top  of  the  rise 

Were  two  tall  pine  trees. 

He  set  store  by  those  trees. 

When  he  first  came  to  the  place 

He  stopped  just  behind  them 

And  when  he  looked  up  he  said 

It  was  like  seeing  Kingdom  Come 

Through  God's  picture  frame. 

That  day  when  he  got  to  the  top  of  the  rise 

He  said  it  was  as  if  something  had  happened  to 

his  eyes. 

He  didn't  know  what  it  was  at  first. 
Then  the  man,  smiling  happy-like,  came  toward 

him  and  said, 
"I  got  'em  down  today. 
I  been  meaning  to  do  it  this  long  time 
But  I  ain't  got  around  to  it  before. 
It  didn't  seem  just  right  to  leave  'em 
When  you  was  coming. 
They  was  so  in  the  way." 

Then  he  knew  the  trees  were  gone. 
And  he  turned  and  came  down  the  mountain. 

60 


I  tried  to  say  the  right  thing  to  him, 

But  no  words  would  come. 

It  didn't  matter.     He  had  forgotten  me. 

He  stood  there  white  and  still, 

His  big  eyes  seeing  nothing  but  his  trees, 

His  lips  just  moving  so  I  could  hardly  hear. 

Over  and  over  he  was  saying, 

"My  trees  are  gone, 

My  beautiful  trees. 

They  cut  my  trees." 

All  at  once  he  threw  back  his  head. 
And,  in  his  impotence, 
He  arraigned  God. 

"Why  did  you  make  it  beautiful, 
And  not  give  them  eyes  to  see? 
Why  did  you  give  them  power  to  destroy, 
And  not  give  them  eyes  to  see?" 


61 


THE  SUBWAY  AT  Six  O'CLOCK 

The  subway  at  six  o'clock  on  a  warm  afternoon. 
Electric  fans,  whirring  accompaniment  to  grind 
ing  wheels, 
Stir  air  that  reeks  with  varied  odors. 

A  man  hides  behind  a  newspaper 
Trying  to  seem  unconscious 
That  he  is  occupying  two  seats 
While  women  are  standing. 

A  woman  yields  her  seat 
To  another  woman  carrying  a  baby 
And  gets  her  toes  stepped  on 
For  her  pains. 

Pour  girls  in  a  row  vacuously  chew  gum, 
Each  in  a  special  rhythm 
Suited  to  the  lubrication 
Of  an  embryonic  brain. 

A  girl  absorbed  in  a  thriller  enters. 
Too  short  to  reach  the  hard,  white  handle, 
She  braces  herself  against  a  man 
Forgetful  of  the  feather  on  her  hat 
That  sticks  in  his  eyes  and  tickles  his  nose 
When  the  car  lurches. 

The  man  smiles  tolerantly  at  her  oblivion, 
And,  wishing  he  could  care  as  much  about 

62 


A  yellow  haired  princess  and  a  lover's  peril, 
Holds  firm. 

His  smiling  courtesy  amuses  the  rest  of  us 
And  makes  tolerable  an  otherwise 
Tedious  and  harassing  journey. 


I   SAW  IT  ONE  DAY 

I  saw  it  one  day  last  spring  in  an  Atlantic  Port. 

I  can  not  forget  it. 

From  the  deck  of  a  slowly  moving  ferry  boat, 

In  the  quiet  of  Sunday  afternoon 

When  the  busy-ness  of  men  is  for  the  most  part 
laid  aside, 

I  watched  idly. 

The  docks  were  full  of  ships 

Ready  for  their  perilous  journey  overseas. 

One  floated  lightly  on  the  water  like  a  gigantic 
bird 

With  strange  markings  on  its  back  and  sides 

Resting  from  flight. 

Another  reared  its  head  proudly 

As  though  its  brilliant  color  patches 

Set  it  in  a  class  apart. 

Yet  another,  rainbow-hued,  strained  at  its  moor 
ings, 

As  though  it  knew  it  would  reach  its  goal 

And  pass  unobserved  at  dawn 

In  the  irridescent  Mediterranean. 

Then  came  one  the  like  of  which  I  had  not  seen 
before. 

A  heavy  line  of  brown  followed  the  outline  of  a 
dull  grey  hull. 

Above  this,  a  thin  line  of  white, 

Above,  another  line  of  brown, 

Then  grey,  dull  grey. 

I  wondered  how  this  Camouflage  could  serve. 

Then,  my  vision  sharpened,  I  saw  the  white  line 

64 


Was  made  of  human  faces; 

The  lines  of  brown,  of  soldier  khaki. 

The  ship  was  waiting  for  the  dark  to  come. 

The  men  were  standing  in  the  stinging  cold 

Motionless  and  silent, 

Through  the  long  hours  looking  upon  home 

As  a  man  looks  for  the  last  time  upon  the  face  of 

his  beloved. 
As  though  standing  so  would  keep  the  veil  from 

falling 

And  hold  before  their  vision  that  most  dear  thing 
That  each  one  wishes  to  keep  until  the  end. 
I  saw  it  and  I  can  not  forget  it. 
The  faces  of  men  about  to  sail  for  battle 
Turned  toward  home. 


I'VE  BEEN  A  HELPMATE 

I've  been  a  helpmate  to  him. 

I've  scrimped  and  saved. 

And  now,  I  reckon,  I'm  done. 

I  ain't  blaming  him.     It  ain't  that. 

He's  done  his  best. 

But  somehow  we  ain't  had  no  luck. 

I  reckon  I'll  go  on  helping  him  same  as  before, 

Only  I'm  going  to  spend  and  spend. 

I'm  going  to  get  some  comfort  out  of  life  before  I 

die. 

I'm  going  to  begin 

Just  as  soon  as  I've  a  hundred  dollars  ahead 
Against  the  children's  being  sick. 

Maybe  you  think  I'm  foolish. 

I'm  tired,  dog-tired. 

I've  worked  just  like  a  horse  day  in  and  day  out. 

And  what  have  I  got  to  show  for  it? 

Nothing,  just  nothing. 

Not  any  more  than  if  I  had  taken  my  ease. 

Only  if  I  had,  and  things  had  gone  wrong, 

He'd  have  been  sore,  and  he'd  have  blamed  me. 

He  wouldn't  have  known  they'd  have  been  that 

way  anyway, 
Any  more  than  I  knew  before  we  began. 

Twice  now  it's  happened. 
I  got  ahead  once  eight  hundred  dollars 
Just  by  saving  and  managing, 
And  once  a  thousand  dollars. 

66 


Twice  It's  got  eat  up, 
Us  trying  to  get  ahead. 

I  was  up  before  it  was  light 

Getting  his  breakfast  and  the  men's  and  redding 

the  house, 

Then  out  in  the  fields  same  as  the  horses 
Ploughing  and  hoeing. 
Then  in,  getting  his  dinner  and  the  men's, 
Then  out  hoeing,  and  ploughing  and  raking, 
I  was  going  to  say  like  the  horses. 
But  it  wa'n't  like  the  horses. 
They  have  their  rest  to  keep  'em  fit. 
It  was  like  a  woman  that  ain't  got  time  to  rest. 
After  the  horses  stopped 
I  got  supper  for  him  and  the  men. 
When  the  men  were  in  bed  asleep 
I  was  redding  and  making  the  children's  clothes 
And  doing  the  washing. 

After  all,  the  crops  failed. 

And  what  we  had  didn't  bring  nothing. 

Thirty  cents  a  hundred  they  paid  us  for  corn. 

The  people  that  ate  it  paid  just  ten  times  that  for 

it. 

Somebody  got  the  money.     I  don't  know  who. 
We  couldn't  pay  the  mortgage. 
And  they  took  the  farm. 
We  was  just  where  we  was  before. 

It  ain't  that  I  blame  him. 

He  worked  and  done  his  best. 

67 


And  it  was  hard  on  him, 
Him  counting  so  on  making  out. 
Only  I'm  tired,  dog-tired. 
And  it  happened  twice. 

I'm  going  to  take  some  comfort  now. 

He's  got  a  job 

And  we're  going  to  use  the  money  coming  in. 

I'm  going  to  begin 

As  soon  as  I've  a  hundred  by 

Against  the  children's  being  sick. 

I'll  begin  then 

And  I'll  spend  and  spend. 


68 


THEY  SAID  SHARP,  CRUEL  THINGS 

They  said  sharp,  cruel  things  about  me. 
They  made  evil  prophecies. 
My  eyes  danced. 
My  laugh  rang  out. 

They  could  not  bear  to  see  a  woman 
Take  her  life  in  her  own  hands 
And  be  happy. 

The  world  is  so  full  of  unhappiness, 

It  needs  joy  so  much, 

Why  should  they  try  to  kill  happiness? 

They  could  not  kill  mine! 
I  took  what  love  offered. 
I  am  happy  for  all  time. 

No  matter  what  comes 

My  heart  will  sing. 

And  I  hold  my  head  high. 


69 


I  AM  QUITE  SURE 

I  am  quite  sure  Mrs.  Shultz  loved  the  girl. 
I  am  quite  sure  she  meant  to  be  kind. 
She  said  to  me, 

"I'm  glad  she's  coming  here 

So  I  can  take  care  of  her. 

She's  Richard's  niece,  you  know. 

I'd  do  anything  for  anybody 

That  belongs  to  Richard. 

The  doctor  says  it's  the  Tuber-closis  she's  got. 

I  know  about  that. 

It's  in  Richard's  family. 

I've  seen  three  of  his  sisters  die  of  it. 

The  doctor  says  she's  got  a  chance  up  here 

Where  the  air  is  good 

And  she  can  get  good  food. 

I'm  going  to  give  her  plenty  of  eggs 

And  milk,  and  good  fresh  butter. 

I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  her 

Just  as  I  did  for  Richard's  sisters." 

After  a  time  I  saw  Mrs.  Shultz  again. 
She  did  not  look  happy. 
I  asked  if  Ettie  were  better. 
She  said, 

"She's  gone  back  to  the  city 
Where  there  ain't  a  living  chance  for  her. 
I  did  my  best. 

But  I  couldn't  keep  her  from  going. 

70 


She  said  she  was  going  to  die 

And  she  wanted  to  die  in  the  city 

Where  her  father  is 

And  her  brothers  and  sisters. 

It's  enough  to  kill  her 

Sleeping  the  way  she  does 

Out  on  the  fire  escape 

In  the  foul,  night  air. 

Here  she  had  a  nice,  soft  bed, 

And  a  room  all  to  herself. 

"You  wouldn't  believe 

How  headstrong  she  was. 

Once  she  got  the  notion  to  go 

Nothing  could  keep  her. 

It  was  just  so  about  the  window 

Once  she  made  up  her  mind 

To  have  it  open. 

"I  did  my  duty  by  her,  I  know  that. 
It  wasn't  easy  either. 

"I  didn't  go  to  sleep  a  single  night 

Until  I  was  sure  about  her  window. 

I  told  her  she  must  keep  it  shut. 

She  could  get  all  the  air  she  needed  in  the  daytime. 

Night  air  is  bad  for  the  Tuber-closis. 

I  found  that  out  when  I  was  nursing  Richard's 

sisters. 

But  would  you  believe  it? 

After  I  had  tucked  her  in  and  had  gone  to  bed 
She'd  get  up  and  open  it,  softly, 


Just  an  inch  at  a  time 
So  I  shouldn't  hear. 
Rut  I  did,  and  I  went  again  and  shut  it. 
At  last,  when  I  found  I  couldn't  trust  her, 
I  went  with  a  hammer 
And  I  nailed  it  shut- 
She  said  it  sounded  like  I  was  nailing  her  coffin. 
It  shouldn't  be  said  I  neglected  Richard's  niece 
And  didn't  treat  her  like  one  of  my  own. 

"I  did  my  best.      I  know  that. 

But  she  didn't  get  better. 

She  seemed  to  pine  for  something. 

She  said  she  was  disappointed. 

I  could  see  she  had  expected 

To  get  better  right  off  up  here. 

Well,  there  wasn't  any  keeping  her. 

So  Richard  took  her  to  the  station  last  week. 

"Today  I  got  a  letter. 

It  says  there  isn't  any  hope. 

I  just  can't  bear  to  think  that  Ettie— 

"Well,  I  did  my  duty." 


72 


FRIDAY,  SATURDAY,  SUNDAY 

Friday,  Saturday,  Sunday, 
Three  whole  days  of  freedom 
From  the  crashing  noise 
And  racking  contacts 
Of  the  city. 

I  lift  my  eyes  to  the  long,  low-lying  hills, 

The  smell  of  warm,  moist  earth  comes  to  me. 

I  feel  wind  cool  on  my  cheek 

And  warm  sun. 

I  remember  they  call  this  day 

Good  Friday. 

I  shut  my  eyes. 

I  see  the  church 

With  its  kneeling  throng 

And  its  purple  altar  cloths. 

I  hear  the  sad,  Gregorian  music. 

I  wonder  why  they  call  this  Friday  good. 

Yet, 

Because  so  many  years  ago 

Men  killed  the  God-man, 

I  am  free  today 

To  wander  through  the  fields 

Praising  God  in  my  own  way. 


73 


TWICE 

Twice  I  took  my  life  into  my  own  hands, 
Once  for  Art. 
Once  for  Love. 
Then  again  twice. 

Four  times  God  said, 
"Your  life  is  mine. 
You  shall  do  with  it 
What  I  decree." 

Music  called  me. 

I  turned  my  back  upon  my  appointed  task 

To  follow  the  call. 

God  took  my  voice. 

Then  my  Love  came. 
I  left  all 
To  be  with  him. 
God  took  my  Love. 

Twice  I  said, 
"If  I  may  not  live 
The  life  I  wish, 
I  will  not  live." 

Even  when  I  sought  to  die 
God  interfered. 
Yet  men  say 
That  we  are  free. 


74 


THEY  SAID  IT  COULD  NOT  LAST 

They  said  it  could  not  last. 

Deep  in  my  heart  I  knew  they  were  right. 

It  was  too  perfect  to  last. 

Today  I  am  facing  it. 

When  I  saw  him  look  at  her  this  morning 

I  knew  it  was  the  end. 

I  called  him  to  me. 

I  took  his  hands  in  mine 

And  smiled  into  his  eyes. 

"She  loves  you,"  I  said.     "Go  to  her." 
I  could  do  it  because  I  love  him  so, 
Because  the  happiness  he  has  given  me  has  been 
so  great. 

I  did  not  tell  him  that  next  my  heart 

I  bore  his  crowning  gift  to  me. 

I  could  not  hold  him  by  such  means. 

Some  day  my  son  will  understand. 

He  will  be  glad  his  mother  made  his  father  happy 

In  the  only  way  she  could. 


75 


So  they've  got  a  woman,  have  they,  at  the  cros 
sing,  flagging  trains? 

And  she's  been  there  for  a  week,  has  she,  every 
day 

From  sun-up  to  sun-down  without  going  home  to 
rest 

Even  when  it  drizzled  rain? 

And  they're  telling  her  they  think  she's  fine 

To  stick  so  on  the  job,  are  they? 

Well,  I  don't  grudge  her  nothing,  only— 
They're  doing  it  so  she'll  want  to  stay. 
I  know  that  much. 
They  want  to  keep  her  on  the  job 
Now  the  men  are  going  to  war. 
That's  what  they  wrant. 

It  all  depends  on  what  they  want, 

What  they  tell  you  when  you  work  for  'em, 

Especially  when  you're  a  woman  and  can't  help 

yourself. 
It  ain't  how  you  do  the  work.     That  ain't  what 

counts. 

It's  what  they  want. 

What  did  they  tell  me  when  I  flagged  the  trains? 
Yes.     I  flagged  trains  for  'em  one  whole  year. 
What  did  they  tell  me  when  they  found  it  out? 
That  I'd  done  it  well? 
They  told  me  I'd  no  right  to  the  job 
And  would  have  to  go. 

76 


I'd  like  to  know  who  had  a  better  right 

When  I'd  done  it  a  whole  year  and  no  fault  found. 

It  was  night  and  cold  when  I  began. 

It  was  my  man's,  job, 

All  that  stood  between  us  and  this  poor-farm 

Where  I  am  at  last. 

One  day  he  came  home  sick. 

All  day  I  tended  him  hoping  he'd  get  better, 

But  the  pain  racked  him  when  he  tried  to  move, 

And  when  it  came  on  night  he  fretted 

P'or  fear  the  trains  would  come  to  harm 

Or  somebody  would  get  hurt. 

He'd  been  always  faithful 

And  they  depended  on  his  being  there. 

I  told  him  not  to  worry.     I  would  take  his  place. 

I  put  his  clothes  on,  took  his  lantern 

And  went  down  the  hill  to  the  place  where  the 

tracks  cross. 

I  stayed  the  night  through. 
The  next  night  I  went  again  and  the  next. 
He  grew  easier  in  his  mind,  knowing  the  work 

was  done 

And  the  pay  would  come  as  usual. 
Daytimes  I  tended  him  and  the  track  at  night 
From  sun-down  to  sun-up  for  a  year. 
I  came  to  love  the  track 
And  the  stars  that  shine  so  clear. 
At  last  he  died. 

All  I  wantecj  then  was  to  stay  on 

In  the  old  house  where  we'd  lived  so  long 

77 


And  flag  the  trains  as  I'd  been  doing. 

But  they  found  out  he  was  dead. 

They  came  and  said  they'd  put  some  one  In  his 

place. 

I  told  them  how  I'd  flagged  the  trains 
All  the  while  that  he  was  sick 
And  begged  to  stay. 
A  cousin  of  an  engineer  wanted  a  job. 
They  told  me  tending  track  was  man's  work. 
A  woman  couldn't  do  it. 
Couldn't  do  what  I'd  been  doing  without  fault  for 

a  year. 

They  turned  me  off. 

They  didn't  want  a  woman  on  the  job — then. 
That's  why  I'm  here,  at  the  poor-farm, 
Why  I  know. 


I'M  SEVENTY-EIGHT 

I'm  seventy-eight 

But  I  can  hold  my  own,  I  guess, 

With  the  best. 

I've  done  a  day's  work  today. 

I  got  my  breakfast  and  my  dinner, 

I  filed  my  kitchen  and  my  room. 

You  can't  find  a  speck  of  dust  so  big  if  you  looked. 

I  hoed  three  rows,  long  rows  they  was,  and  plant 
ed  beans. 

Then  I  sewed  my  waist  where  it  was  ripped, 
washed  myself, 

And  dressed  and  made  three  pastoral  calls. 

Then  I  came  up  here.  That's  a  good  mile  and  a 
half  I  guess. 

Now  I'm  going  back. 

I'll  get  my  supper  and  go  straight  to  bed,  I  think. 

I've  earned  my  rest  tonight. 

But  goodness  me!     That  ain't  nothing  to  what  I 

used  to  do. 

I  ain't  never  been  one  to  hold  my  hands. 
I  was  eighteen  when  he  married  me 
And  brought  me  to  the  farm. 
I  did  my  part  for  fifty  years. 
I  wasn't  never  one  to  have  a  girl  around. 
I  used  to  laugh  and  tell  him  that  when  I  married 

him 

79 


It  was  the  same  as  marrying  three, 

What  with  him,  and  his  uncle  that  lived  with  us, 

And  the  hired  man. 

I  was  broke  In  young,  I  guess. 

That's  why  I'm  what  I  am,  at  seventy-eight. 


80 


SHE  WAS  OLD 

She  was  old  when  I  knew  her,  and  she  looked  at 

life 

From  the  vantage  point  of  the  years  she  had  lived. 
We  told  her  things  we  told  no  other. 
Always  she  gave  us  help  and  always  we  wondered 
At  her  sympathy  and  her  tolerance. 

One  day  I  understood. 

I  brought  for  comfort  one 

Whom  bitter  tongues  had  made  to  suffer. 

My  friend  held  out  her  hand. 

"Were  you  happy,  my  dear? 

Then  don't  regret. 

You  were  wise  to  take  the  gift  life  offered." 

Then,  seeing  wonder  in  our  eyes,  she  said, 

"It  is  because  I  have  not  had 

That  I  see  so  clearly  what  it  means 

That  you  have  had. 

Once  love  came  to  me. 

I  was  afraid. 

That  is  niy  regret. 

I  was  not  brave  enough 

To  take  it  when  it  came." 


81 


I  Do  NOT  FEEL  OLD 

I  do  not  feel  old. 

I  know  I  am  not  as  straight  as  I  was, 

And  my  hand  trembles  a  little, 

Not  very  much,  just  a  little, 

When  at  table  I  try  to  pass 

A  glass  of  water 

Or  a  cup  of  coffee. 

I  can't  walk  so  far, 

Nor  so  fast,  as  I  did. 

And  they  say  my  hair  is  white. 

I  suppose  it  is. 

I  hadn't  noticed,  I've  been  so  busy. 

But  does  it  matter? 

My  work's  as  good  as  it  was. 

I  know  my  work's  as  good. 

They  say  I'm  old. 

Maybe  I  am. 

But  I'm  just  learning 

What  things  mean. 

I've  just  reached  the  place 

I've  been  aiming  for. 

I  don't  hear  quite  as  well  as  I  did. 
But  my  work— 
I  love  my  work. 

God,  you  won't  let  them  take  it  from  me! 

I'm  just  learning 
What  it  means. 

82 


SPRING  HAS  COME 

Spring  has  come. 

I  know  because  today 

Old  Andy  came  in 

With  his  hands  full  of  railway  guides. 

It's  his  way. 

When  the  first  warm  days  come 

His  blood  stirs. 

I  can  tell  by  the  way 

He  walks  to  the  window  and  looks  out. 

Yesterday  he  stood  there  for  a  long  time, 

His  poor,  frayed  coat  pressed  against  the  glass, 

His  arms  resting  on  the  lowered  sash, 

Oblivious  of  everything 

Except  a  tree-top  far  below, 

And  a  twittering  bird. 

Today  he  brought  the  guides. 

He  sat  for  a  long  time 

Turning  over  the  pages 

And  looking  at  the  pictures. 

Then  he  said, 

"They  get  these  things  up  nicely,  don't  they? 

Look  at  that. 

That  would  be  a  good  place  to  spend  the  sum 
mer." 

He  held  out  a  woodcut  of  a  log  hut  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks. 

83 


"Fine,  Andy,"  I  said. 

"When  do  you  expect  to  go?" 

"Oh, — I  don't  really  mean  to  go,  sir. 

I  never  leave  the  city. 

There's  the  sick  wife, 

And — "  His  voice  trailed  off. 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  old. 

Then  his  eyes  brightened 

As  a  child's 

When  he  sees  roseate  things. 

"I  went  once  when  I  was  a  boy. 

I  spent  a  whole  summer  in  a  place  like  that. 

I  just  get  these  things,  sir. 

I  like  to  put  a  picture  up  where  I  can  see  it 

And  think,  it  takes  only  so  long  to  get  there, 

And  think—" 

He  opened  his  ledger. 
The  rest  was  swallowed  up 
In  his  rapid  count, 
"2,  5,  7,  29,  81—" 


84 


WINGED  THINGS 

"Si  mes  Vers  avaient  des  Ailes." 

VICTOR  HUGO 


IN  THE  BLUE  BLACK  OF  THE  NIGHT 

V 

In  the  blue  black  of  the  night 

I  saw  a  pine  tree. 

In  its  arms  rested  a  star. 

As  I  looked,  the  star  stirred 
And  moved  from  its  resting  place 
Until  it  hung  far  above  the  tree. 

The  tree  stood  calm  and  straight 
With  its  comforting  arms  stretched  out 

Waiting  for  the  star  to  come  again, 
As  it  would,  the  next  night  and  the  next. 


SOMETHING  So  NICE 

Something  so  nice  happened  today. 
A  little  bird 
Came  to  visit  me. 


He  was  a  little  bird 

Who  likes  to  sit 

On  the  tips  of  things. 

He  sat  on  the  topmost  tip 
Of  my  little  cedar  tree 
And  he  sang  to  nie. 

He  sang  so  loud 

And  his  song  was  so  sweet 

That  I  came  to  see. 

There  he  was  against  the  sky 
Singing  his  heart  out 
To  the  world  and  me. 

He  was  blue,  blue,  blue. 
Just  below  was  larkspur 
Blue,  blue,  blue. 

There  was  a  tiny,  white  cloud 
In  a  sky 
Of  blue. 


A  soft,  soft  wind 

Swayed  the  tip  of  the  tree. 

There,  in  the  golden  morning  light, 

Careless  and  gay  and  free, 

A  little  bird 

Gave  of  his  joy  to  me. 


89 


I  I .  XHGHED  WHEN  THE  BIRD  SANG 

I  laughed  when  the  bird  sang. 
Oh,  my  dear! 

For  he  sang  the  song 
My  heart  was  singing. 
I  love  you,  dear. 

You  heard  and  smiled. 
Oh,  my  dear! 

So  I  laughed  when  the  bird  sang 
And  you  heard  my  heart  singing. 
I  love  you,  dear. 


90 


LITTLE  YELLOW  BIRD 

Little  yellow  bird, 

Did  you  come  today 

Because  it  was  grey  and  cold? 

Or  did  you  feel 

I  was  sad,  little  bird, 

And  in  need  of  your  glint  of  gold? 

The  sun  came  out 
When  you  flashed  by. 
It  touched  your  breast 

And  the  golden-rod 

Where  you  stopped  to  rest. 

And  it  shone  in  my  heart,  little  bird. 

It  shines  there  more  brightly, 

O  Sunshine  bird, 

Than  it  does  in  the  sky  above; 

Or  on  your  breast, 

Or  the  golden-rod 

Where  you  stopped  to  rest. 

The  sun  in  my  heart, 
Little  bird, 
Is  love. 


MY  JOY  BIRD 
My  Joy  bird!     My  Tanager! 

With  the  glint  of  the  sun 
On  your  wings  and  throat! 

And  your  vivid  delight 
In  the  fresh,  young  day, 

And  the  cool,  still  leaves 
And  the  rain- washed  air! 

You  come  with  your  eager  song 
And  your  flaming  head  and  breast 

To  sear  me,  O  Love  bird, 
And  give  me  rest. 


92 


I  NEVER  HEARD  THAT  BIRD  BEFORE 

I  never  heard  that  bird  before. 
I  wonder  why. 

He  comes  every  year  in  spring 
To  sing. 

I  never  felt  the  wind  so  soft 
Or  saw  new  leaves  grey-green 
In  spring. 
I  wonder  why. 

I  did  not  know  that 
Maple  keys  are  red 
And  young  shoots, 
As  they  are  in  fall. 

They  came  with  you, 
O  love, 
This  spring. 
Is  that  why? 


93 


THE  WORLD  is  FULL  OF  SORROW 

The  world  is  full  of  sorrow. 
Life  is  full  of  pain. 
We  are  blind  to  beauty. 
We  are  prone  to  blame. 

We  are  looking  in  our  blindness 
Through  the  grey  mist  of  self, 
And  all  things  seem  grey. 

You  come 

With  your  clear  vision, 
Your  gift  of  seeing  beauty, 
Your  forgetfulness  of  self. 

You  smile. 
The  grey  mist  lifts. 
The  sun  shines  clear. 
Joy,  beauty,  love, 
Seem  near. 

You  listen  as  you  smile? 
Now  I  hear. 
Tell  me 

Was  it,  merely,  that  you  heard 
The  clear,  sweet  note 
Of  a  singing  bird? 


94 


WHY  Do  I  LOVE  You 

Why  do  I  love  you? 

I  love  you,  my  dear, 

For  so  many  things, 

And  in  so  many  ways, 

That  when  I  try 

To  tell  you 

What  you  mean  to  me 

And  why, 

Only  trifles  light  as  air 

Frame  themselves  in  words, 

My  dear. 

You  smile  at  this. 

You  sigh  at  that. 

So  your  eye-lash  sweeps  your  cheek. 

So  your  color  comes  and  goes. 

So — Oh,  my  dear,  in  you  I  see 

A  beauty  wonderful, 

A  beauty  rare, 

That  your  smile 

Or  your  sigh 

Just  gives  hint  of, 

My  dear. 

It's  your  beautiful  soul 
That  I  love. 
I  can  not  tell  you  why. 
I  can  only  thank  God 
That  he  brought  me  near 

95 


To  see  it 
And  feel  it 
And  love  you 
My  dear. 


96 


ALWAYS 

Always,  my  dear,  I  like  you 
But 

When  the  song  of  a  bird, 
Or  the  gift  of  a  flower, 
Puts  light  in  your  eyes ; 

When  the  shape  of  a  cloud, 
Or  sunlight  through  leaves, 

The  soft  feel  of  moss, 
Or  grey  trunks  of  trees, 
Brings  a  smile  to  your  lips ; 

When  the  smell  of  moist  earth, 
Or  wind  through  the  grain, 
Turns  you  to  me  in  friendship; 

Then, 
I  like  you  most,  my  dear. 


97 


MY  GARDEN 

My  garden  is  fair  today. 

Yesterday  it  was  choked  with  weeds. 

Today  I  knelt,  and  thrust  my  fingers 
Into  the  warm,  brown,  friable  earth. 
I  pulled  root,  stock  and  branch. 

My  flowers  spread  out  their  leaves 
And  preened  themselves. 

As  I  knelt,  sun  came 

And  warmed  me. 

Wind  swept  clear  my  brain. 

All  at  once  I  was  aware 

That  from  another  garden  fair 

I  tore  away  weeds  not  pulled  with  hands 

And  in  their  stead 

A  flower  crept,  and  spread 

Like  the  blue  flame  of  violets. 

As  the  pile  of  tansey 
Grew  at  my  feet 
My  heart  grew7  light, 
The  air  grew  sweet. 

Into  the  garden 
Where  roses  blow 
Came  the  sun. 
Into  that  other  garden 

98 


Which  is  my  heart 
Came  love. 

Out  of  my  heart  confessed 
I  swept  envies  and  hatreds 
And  jealousies 
And  thoughts  of  self. 

Where  these  are 
Love  cannot  rest. 


99 


THE  YEARS  PASS 

The  years  pass,  and  the  months,  and  the  days. 

Each  one  I  cling  to, 

For  each  has  a  beauty  of  its  own 

That  I  may  not  see  again. 

Yesterday  the  sun  lay  upon  that  hill-top 
A  red  ball  of  fire.     As  it  sank, 
Through  the  golden  air  a  bird 
Winged  his  upward  way  singing. 

The  day  before 

A  white  cloud  with  the  sun  upon  it 
Rested  on  the  top  of  that  pine  tree. 
All  the  sky  was  blue  about  it. 

Today  I  found  a  gentian, 

Its  heart  a  bit  of  the  sky's  own  blue, 

Floating  above  the  marsh, 

Shy,  fragile,  delicately  fringed. 

Tomorrow!     What  will  tomorrow  bring? 
My  heart  leaps  and  is  still. 
Perhaps  for  me  tomorrow  may  not  come. 
Or  coming,  vision  may  be  dulled. 

Perhaps  I  may  not  see  again 
Larkspur,  flame-colored  hills, 
The  tracery  of  bare  branches, 
Shadblow,  or  apple  trees  in  bud. 

100 


Or  seeing, 

May  feel  only  cold, 

Or  heat,  or  biting  wind. 

So  I  pray, 

Spare  me,  O  Lord,  the  full  measure  of  each  year 
That  may  be  mine  of  vivid  feeling, 
But  take  me  quickly,  God, 
When  beauty  no  longer  moves  me. 


101 


I  Do  NOT  KNOW 

I  do  not  know  if  in  that  life 

That  may  be  mine  beyond  the  grave, 

I  shall  feel  beauty 

And  love  and  peace  and  joy 

In  the  same  way  that  I  do  here. 


But  this  I  know. 
Yesterday  I  faced  the  sea. 
On  one  side  were  quiet  hills  half  hidden 
In  the  haze  of  forest  fires  burning  far  away. 
The  sun,  a  glowing  ball,  hung  far  above  them 
Through  the  smoke  cloud  shifting  red  and  cop 
pery. 

Across  the  restless  water  a  path  blood  red 
Led  up  to  the  irridescent  hills. 
All  was  quiet  save  the  sea 
And  the  sea  cried  to  me. 


The  cry  of  the  sea 
Was  the  cry  of  my  spul. 
For  beyond  the  blood  red  path, 
Beyond  the  sea  and  the  irridescent  hills, 
Was  a  beauty  too  vast 
For  my  finite  eyes  to  see. 
And  deep  within  me  was  a  hurt 
That  beauty  should  be  measureless 
And  I  so  impotent  that  I  grasp 
But  its  semblance,  not  itself. 

1 02 


If  it  is  true,  O  Lord, 

That  heie  my  eyes  see  as  through  a  veil 

And  my  soul  as  through  a  glass  darkly, 

If  when  I  have  passed  the  gates  of  death 

I  shall  have  quickened  power 

And  shall  see  more  deeply 

And  feel  more  keenly, 

Do  not  keep  me  waiting. 

Let  death  come  quickly. 


103 


IT  is  A  BEAUTIFUL  WORLD 

It  is  a  beautiful  world,  O  Lord, 
And  this  is  a  beautiful  day. 
Quicken  my  soul  to  its  depths 
That  I  may  feel 
The  beauty  my  eyes  see. 


104 


WINDS  OF  GOD 

Winds  of  God,  blow  gently  on  me. 

0  Sun,  warm  me. 

Your  caress  is  soft, 

And,  like  the  touch  of  my  Beloved, 

Brings  close  the  heart  of  beauty. 

My  flesh  vibrates.     My  spirit  sings. 
Today,  spirit  and  flesh 
Form  one  harmonious  whole. 

1  am  alive. 

I  am  akin  to  all  living  things. 

The  trees,  the  sky,  the  floating  clouds, 
The  great,  grey  rocks,  the  blades  of  grass, 
Are  part  of  me,  and  I  am  part  of  them. 

O  Wind  and  Sun,  you  are  my  brothers, 
You  make  me  feel  my  nearness 
To  all  things  great  and  beautiful. 

You  touch  my  every  sense. 
You  heal  the  hurt  of  apathy. 


105 


MY  SON  CAME  TO  ME 

My  son  came  to  me  when  I  was  alone 

And  put  his  arms  about  me  and  held  me  close. 

It  was  an  unwonted  thing  for  him  to  do. 

We  had  not  been  very  good  friends,  my  son  and  I. 

Eut  he  was  going  to  the  Front 

And  the  danger  softened  him, 

So  he  came  to  be  a  little  tender  with  me 

Before  he  went. 

As  he  sat  so  close  to  me, 

And  I  so  happy  to  have  him  there, 

A  strange  thing  happened. 

His  face  changed. 

He  took  on  the  form  and  feature 

Of  one  whom  I  had  loved  in  years  gone  by, 

A  boy  no  older  than  himself, 

Whom  lately  I  had  seen  an  old  man,  ill  and  broken. 

Now  there  was  no  hint  of  age  or  illness. 

He  was  my  fair  young  lover. 

I  a  girl  by  two  years  younger. 

As  he  sat  there  close  to  me, 
My  head  against  his  shoulder, 
As  so  often  we  had  sat  in  other  days, 
I  knew  that  he  was  dead. 

I  am  glad  he  came  to  me  in  the  old  form  that  I 

loved, 

Glad  it  was  through  my  son  he  came. 
Did  he  mean  to  tell  me,  do  you  think, 

106 


That  he  had  loved  me  all  these  years? 

That  through  everything  he'd  kept  faith  and  un 
derstood? 

Did  he  mean  to  say 

"For  love  of  you  I'll  stay  near  your  son  to  guard 
him. 

Trust  me  as  I  have  always  trusted  you." 

It  would  be  like  him  so  to  comfort  me. 


107 


AFTER  A  YEAR 

After  a  year  they  meet. 
She  speaks. 

"Doctors  say  no  hope.    Can  not  live  till  morning." 
That  was  the  cable. 

Till  morning! 

How  long  was  left  me? 

An  hour — two — to  battle  for  you? 

I  did  not  know. 

"He's  mine!"  I  said.     "I  will  not  let  him  go." 

I  put  myself  beyond  the  reach  of  call 
And  threw  myself  upon  my  bed. 

I  did  not  pray. 

If  anybody  saved  you,  it  should  be  I, 

Not  some  unknown  God. 

Motionless  I  lay,  hands  clenched, 
Staring  through  wide,  unseeing  eyes 
Into  the  void. 

Then— 

I  felt  my  soul  traverse  the  sea 
And  all  the  land  between. 

1 08 


I  came  into  your  darkened  room, 
I  saw  your  still  form  lying  there, 
Your  thin,  white  face. 

I  cried,  "I  love  you.     Live  for  me." 

You  stirred.     I  thought, 

If  I  could  only  make  you  hear! 

My  body  stiffened  where  it  lay.     You  would  hear 
If  there  is  anything  in  human  will. 
And,  hearing,  you  would  fight  to  live. 

Or,  failing  strength, 

You'd  know  what  I'd  kept  from  you 

Through  the  years,— 

Because  of  her  who  called  you  hers 

While  ever  hurting  love, — 

And  you  would  have  a  moment's  joy. 

Straight  into  your  eyes  I  looked  and  said, 
"I  love  you.     Live  for  me." 

You  turned  your  head  as  though  you  sought  to 
hear. 

I  knew  that  I  must  make  you  feel  my  need. 
"Live  for  me,"  I  begged.     "I  need  you. 
Live  for  me.     I  need  you." 

In  face  of  death,  we  two,  alone,  in  all  the  world. 
"I  love  you.     Live  for  me. 
Live  for  me.     I  love  you." 

109 


Through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 
Sometimes  my  lips  spoke,  sometimes  my  heart 

alone, 
"I  love  you.     I  love  you.     I  love  you." 

Then — you  heard ! 

You  smiled  and  whispered, 

"Child,  O  child." 

A  light  broke  in  my  heart. 

I  did  not  need  the  second  cable. 

"Out  of  danger.     Crisis  past."     I  slept. 

When  she  is  silent 
He  speaks. 

I  was  so  tired. 

It  was  a  relief  to  know  that  from  the  stupor 

I  would  go  quite  quietly  and  gently  out. 

They  thought  me  too  far  gone  to  understand. 

But  I  heard  the  doctor  say, 

"If  he  does  not  make  some  effort  he  can  not  live." 

I  did  not  let  an  eyelash  quiver. 

To  lie  there  peacefully  and  flicker  out 

Was  what  I  wanted  above  all  things. 

Everything  was  finished. 

I  had  given  all  I  had  to  give. 

Some  one  would  do  the  Nation's  work. 

I  would  rest  for  all  eternity. 

Rest — for  all  eternity. 

no 


Then — 

Something  came  into  my  mind  that  troubled  me. 

It  made  my  head  twist  from  side  to  side 

So  that  I  could  not  rest. 

There  was  something  I  must  do. 


I  was  so  tired. 
There  was  nothing — 
Yes,  one  thing. 
What  was  it? 
I  could  not  lie  still. 
What  was  it? 


Someone  was  trying  to  tell  me. 

If  I  could  stop  turning  and  twisting 

I  could  hear. 

I  wanted  so  to  hear, 

To  get  it  done, 

To  rest. 


Then— 

Your  voice ! 

"I  love  you.     Live  for  me.     I  need  you." 

I  heard  you  though  you  were  beyond  the  sea. 

They  told  me  afterwards  that  I  smiled, 
And  said,  "Child,  O  Child." 
I  know  only  this. 
I  lived  for  you.     I  lived  for  you. 

in 


Now  that  you  are  near  me,  O  my  Love, 

Take  my  hand  and  say  it 

As  you  said  it  then, 

"I  love  you.     I  love  you." 

To  know  is  rest. 


112 


HER  APPLE  TREE 

Her  apple  tree  is  white  with  bloom. 
No  petal  yet  has  fallen 
Though  the  other  trees  are  bare. 
It  waits  for  her  to  come. 

Last  year  she  came  in  budding  time, 
And,  from  her  window, 
Saw  the  change  from  pink  to  white, 
And  watched  a  blue  bird,  breast  aglow, 
Nest-building  in  the  branches. 

Now,  no  friendly  face  looks  out. 
Her  window  is  shuttered  fast. 
Her  house,  bereft  of  soul, 
Stands  lonely. 

The  tree  has  done  its  best. 

Each  day  new  buds  have  come 

And  opened  white  and  stayed, 

As  though  she  yet  might  come  to  see. 

I  stand  beneath  its  fragrant  loveliness 
And  think  of  her. 

The  sun  goes. 

Grayness  fills  the  air. 

The  tree  shivers  in  the  rising  wind. 

Petals  fall  upon  my  hair  and  face 
And  make  a  carpet  at  my  feet. 


Did  some  one  sigh? 

Is  some  one  other  than  myself  grieving 

To  see  the  white  perfection  pass? 

I  look  about.     I  am  alone. 
Yet,  I  am  not  alone. 
She  has  come  at  last. 

Do  you  think  she  used  my  living  eyes  to  see? 
Or,  was  it  through  hers, 
I  saw? 

Never  was  the  tree  so  beautiful  before. 


114 


I  MET  HIM 

I  met  him  when  the  day  was  hottest 
On  a  dusty  road  that  stretched 
Interminably  ahead. 

His  wind-tossed  shock  of  yellow  hair 

Was  matted  with  the  heat, 

His  blouse  open  at  the  throat 

As  though  he  needed  room  to  breathe, 

Across  his  face  a  streak 

Where  careless  hand 

Had  brushed  away  the  moisture. 

He  smiled. 

It  is  an  adventure  to  meet  Peter 

When  he  smiles. 

Of  a  sudden,  there  was  no  dusty  road. 
There  were  leafy  woods,  a  trickling  stream, 
Flickering  sunlight  on  grey  trunks  of  trees, 
Songs  of  birds,  and  soft  green  moss  to  walk  on. 

I  see  friendliness  in  his  clear,  brown  eyes, 
Hint  of  depths  and  tendernesses, 
Of  reserves  and  subtle  understandings, 
And  the  mocking  light  of  laughter. 

In  all  the  world  are  only  pleasant  things 
When  Peter  smiles. 


A  CHANCE  WORD 

A  chance  word, 

A  cruel  word, 

Spoken  in  jest 

Yet  spoken  to  hurt, 

Struck  its  mark 

And  killed  my  joy, 

My  little,  evanescent  joy. 

A  rude  hand  placed 
On  a  butterfly's  wing, 
Bruised  and  crushed 
The  delicate  thing. 

Strong  and  powerful  one, 
Do  you  like  to  hurt 
Evanescent  things 
Like  butterflies'  wings, 
And  my  little  joy? 


116 


ONCE  I  PLANTED  A  LILY 

Once  I  planted  a  lily 

Where  all  who  passed  could  see. 

I  loved  it  and  tended  it 

And  from  it  came  other  lilies. 

They  grew  straight  and  tall. 

And  all  who  passed 

Stopped  to  marvel  at  their  beauty. 

One  day  I  heard  voices. 
I  lingered  where  I  stood 
Until  they  sounded  far  away. 

Then  I  went  down  the  path 

To  the  little  stream 

Where  they  leaned  their  flaming  heads 

Against  the  footbridge. 

I  wished  to  thank  them 
For  their  fragrance, 
And  their  glowing  color, 
And  the  pleasure  that  they  gave. 

Where  they  had  stood 
Tall  and  fair, 
I  found  bleeding  stems 
And  torn  petals. 

117 


Those  who  had  come 

Were  those  who  see  in  beauty 

Only  something  to  destroy. 

Sometimes, 

It  is  love  they  touch. 


118 


HE  CAME  TO  ME  CONFIDENTLY 

He  came  to  me  confidently  wagging  his  tail. 
I  was  thinking  of  something  else 
And  did  not  pat  him. 

He  turned  away.     Then  he  came  back 

And  gave  my  hand  a  dry  little  lick 

Just  to  say  he  was  sorry  he  had  seemed  to  mind. 

My  hand  hung  inert  at  my  side. 

He  looked  at  me  with  questioning  eyes. 

Then  he  went  away.     I  remember  now. 

I  remember,  now  that  he  is  not  here  for  me  to  pat. 
A  dog's  eyes  can  say  so  much. 
I  wish  I  had  patted  him  that  day. 


119 


DID  YOUR  MOTHER  CALL  You 

Did  your  mother  call  you,  little  girl? 
And  did  you  leave  your  playhouse 
And  go  at  once? 

Things  are  scattered  about 

That  I  know  you  did  not  wish  to  leave. 

Your  doll  there  by  a  tree, 

Your  apple  and  your  orange, 

Your  tea  set  and  your  blocks. 

Your  doll's  face  is  stained 

As  though  your  tears  had  fallen  on  it. 

Her  clothes  are  torn, 

And  from  a  wound  in  her  side 

Sawdust  streams. 

Your  tree-trunk  table  has  a  cover  laid 

As  though  you  meant  to  have  a  feast. 

When  the  call  comes  at  the  end,  little  girl, 
Will  you  leave,  I  wonder, 
A  doll  sorely  wounded 
And  a  table  set  for  a  feast? 


1 20 


THREE  ANGRY  WASPS 

Three  angry  wasps  facing  me, 
Their  wings  outspread, 
Their  bodies  working, 
Intense,  alert 
For  my  next  move. 

I  do  not  make  it. 

It  is  not  worth  while 

Even  for  the  sake  of  a  garden  wall 

To  brave  the  stings  of  three  angry  wasps. 

Their  home  left  undisturbed 
Will  grow  apace. 
Many  wasps  will  soon 
Contest  the  spot  with  me. 

I  could  burn  them  out, 

Or  force  them  out 

With  noxious  smelling  stuff. 

But  after  all  they  found  the  place 

Where  I  let  the  stones  fall  down, 

A  niche  just  right  for  them. 

They  worked  hard  to  lay  a  good  foundation. 

Wouldn't  you  fight  for  your  home? 
Under  the  circumstances 
Wouldn't  you  feel 
That  you  deserved  to  win? 


121 


LAST  NIGHT 

Last  night  a  little  mouse  came 

And  gnawed  and  gnawed. 

He  made  bnly  the  faintest  scratching  sound, 

But  I  could  not  sleep. 

A  little  thing  like  the  gnawing  of  a  mouse 
Kept  me  awake. 

What  of  the  people  on  Third  Avenue 

Who  sleep,  if  they  sleep, 

In  face  of  the  crashing  elevated? 

What  of  the  soldiers  in  the  trenches 
Who  hear  always  the  roar  of  cannon 
And  exploding  shells? 


122 


A  POEM  WAS  SINGING  ITSELF 

A  poem  was  singing  itself  in  my  head 
When  I  came  upon  a  dead  mouse  that  maggots 
were  eating. 

The  poem  stopped  singing. 
Afterwards  I  could  not  write  it  down. 

So  when  life  seems  fairest  and  beauty  lies  ahead 
Dead  things  are  in  the  way. 

And  feeding  upon  them  are  maggots  of  Pride  and 

Greed 
And  Jealousy  and  Gossip  and  Strife  and  Ambition. 


123 


I  SHOULD  LIKE  TO  KEEP  THIS  DAINTY  FOR  Yo>u 

I  should  like  to  keep  this  dainty  for  you,  little 

mouse. 

It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  vary 
Your  meagre  diet  so  luxuriously. 
It  is  exactly  what  you  like. 
I  could  place  it  attractively 
Where  your  inquisitive  black  eyes 
And  your  sensitive  nose  would  find  it. 

But  you  would  not  understand 
That  it  is  only  you  I  like, 
Your  quiet  little  way, 
Your  sleek,  grey  coat, 
Your  dainty  appetite. 

I  have  so  much  that  I  throw  away. 
It  takes  so  little  for  you  to  live. 
It  seems  a  pity- 
But  if  I  did  this  for  you, 
With  your  Rooseveltian  idea  of  the  family, 
And  your  loyalty  to  other  mice, 
There  would  be  so  many  of  you  in  a  few  weeks 
That  I  would  have  to  move  away 
And  leave  you  in  possession  of  my  little  house. 

I  don't  like  you  well  enough  for  that,  little  mouse. 
So,  here  goes  your  titbit. 


124 


SIXTH  AVENUE 

Sixth  Avenue  on  a  murky  afternoon. 

The  elevated  crashes  overhead. 

A  flat-wheeled  surface  car 

Shrieks  its  way  toward  Fifty-ninth  street. 

There  is  rain  in  the  air  and  gloom. 

At  Fiftieth  street  the  conductor  shouts 
"All  out.     Last  stop." 

You  descend  to  the  grimy  street  to  wait. 
Six  cars  come  in  quick  succession. 
You  regard  each  one  hopefully. 

Three  disgorge  their  freight 

At  the  conductor's  cry  "All  out!" 

Three  turn  off  at  Fifty-third  street. 

Ten  minutes  pass  and  no  car  comes. 

You  decide  not  to  wait 

And  pick  your  way  to  the  sidewalk. 

Just  above,  passage  is  blocked 

By  a  building  in  process  of  renovation. 

Again  you  pick  your  way, 

Around  piles  of  boards  and  brick  and  lime, 

To  the  street's  center. 

There  a  boy  works  in  a  sewer. 

He  sits  on  the  rim  of  an  open  man-hole, 

Dangling  feet  and  legs  in  its  yawning  mouth. 

125 


Beside  him,  filled  with  clear,  cool  water, 
Stands  an  old  tin  can 
Holding  an  Easter  lily. 

The  lily,  untouched  by  its  surroundings, 
Lifts  its  lovely  head 
To  the  street's  ugliness. 

The  clouds  part. 

Through  the  rift  sunshine  comes 

And  illumines  them. 

Afterwards,  you  remember 
The  whiteness  of  the  lily 
And  the  boy's  face. 

So  always, 

The  world's  sordidness, 

And  the  world's  beauty. 


126 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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